Madness Takes Its Toll
by x id x
Summary: Written for the fanfic100 challenge on livejournal, eventually will have 100 fics centered around Riff Raff. Various pairings or genfics.
1. After

Title: After

Fandom: RHPS

Prompt: 080. Why?

Pairing: Riff/Brad

Rating: PG

_Disclaimer: Richard O'Brien is god. Not me. (And 20th Century Fox should get some credit, too, I suppose)_

He looked so young and forlorn there alone on the bed, his hair still rumpled, blinking owlishly without his glasses. Riff Raff couldn't think of a single thing to say that would make any difference to the other man, and so he simply stood in the shadows of the doorway, listening to the uneven breathing that was the only sound in the room.

"Why?" Brad suddenly wailed to the opposite wall, raking his fingers through his hair, "Why did I do it? Janet…Oh, Janet, I'm so sorry…" With that, he dissolved into choked sobs that seemed to wrack his entire body.

Wondering whether he would regret it later, Riff cautiously crossed the room to the bed, and put a careful hand on the shoulder nearest him, once again not coming up with anything to say. Brad looked up, eyes wide and afraid. He relaxed visibly when he saw that it wasn't Frank, but then he only curled up into a tighter ball and muttered, "I'm sorry—did I wake you?"

Whathad the bastard _done_ to him, anyway? Riff was under the impression that Brad wasn't the sort of man to be broken by simple men and their insults, but then again Frank was by no means simple. Riff, of all people, knew that.

"I suppose it wouldn't comfort you very much to know that yourfiancée has been likewise seduced by the Master," Riff began, and felt the other man shudder beneath his hand, "But she is a strong lady, and shall recover. So can you," Encouraged by the way that sounded, he repeated it firmly. "So can you."

"Can I?" Brad asked, raising his face toward Riff's, and there were tears on his cheeks. "I don't think I know anything for sure anymore…Except how much girls can hurt."

The dreamy look in his eyes was more than a little alarming, and proceeded to becomestill more so when Brad took his hand and pulled him down down down toward the bed, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like "Maybe I should just stick to my own kind, mmm?"

Riff, managing to hang on to one last reasonable thought, replied, "You know I'm not going to be like Frank—"

"—You know I'm not going to be either." Brad smiled, "And I don't want you to be."


	2. Restraint

Title: Restraint

Fandom: RHPS

Prompt: 091. Birthday

Pairing: Riff/Frank

Rating: PG-13

_Disclaimer: Richard O'Brien is god. Not me. (Oh, and 20th Century Fox should get some credit, too, I suppose)_

Frank's birthday was a quiet affair, what with there being so few people in the castle, but that didn't stop the Master and his handyman from getting roaring drunk. Stumbling down the corridor a few hours after dinner, Riff wondered vaguely where all that wine had come from in the first place. He probably didn't want to know.

The slightly uncoordinated padding of Frank's bare feet on the carpet alerted Riff to his presence (How did he manage to stay upright in those ridiculous heels, anyway?) and at first he didn't really mind when one warm arm curled around his waist.

It was only when the garter belt was cutting the circulation off from his wrists that he began to struggle, albeit feebly. "What..." The words fled from him, and he tried again, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Ssh...It's my birthday, isn't it?" Frank smirked, "I should get to have my way with you." With more than a little difficulty, he managed to get Riff's feet hobbled in the same manner, and he pushed him up against the wall to keep the other from overbalancing.

"Now," he continued, "What to do with you?" He ghosted his fingertips over the butler's thin chest, satisfied with the hitch in breathing. And then, he moved in to seal his lips over Riff's mouth, so warm and soft and perfect...

Riff couldn't help but moan into the other man's mouth at the exquisite sensation, and then, just as suddenly as it had come, it was gone again.

"Ah, ah..." Frank chuckled and pushed him back against the wall as Riff tried to lean forward. "Terribly sorry, but I've got places to be..." And, just like that, he turned and proceeded down the hallway.

"Bastard." Riff snarled at his back, not sure if he really meant it.


	3. Queasy

**Title:** Queasy

**Fandom:** RHPS

**Character/Pairing:** Riff, Columbia

**Prompt:** 014. Green

**Rating:** G

**Disclaimer: Richard O'Brien wrote it. 20th Century Fox bought rights to it. I have nothing to do with either of the aforementioned carbon-based life forms.**

He cautiously opened an eye, was greeted by an extraordinarily low-cut bodice and a high, squeaky voice, realized his mistake, and rolled over. Sleep was unwilling to take him back, however, and he groaned. Whatever he had ended up forcing down at that tiny nightclub was definitely not agreeing with him now, and he shut his eyes tighter, balling his fists in the sheets and willing himself not to be sick in front of this complete stranger.

Ah, but the girl wasn't a stranger. That one thought seemed to stick out at him, and he dragged it painfully from his nauseous brain. He had brought her back to the castle. And now, all hell was going to break loose, if he wasn't too sick to care.

Gods below, did that girl ever shut up? He rolled over again, against his better judgement, and began to open his mouth to give her a piece of his mind, but the bile rushing up his throat prevented that, and he lunged for the window, which had been blowing an annoying cold breeze into the room, instead.

Wiping a hand across his mouth, he turned as the girl approached him, thankful that he could still stand. She was smiling at him, but her eyes were concerned. "D'ya feel better now? I never eat when I'm on the job...It'll turn ya green for weeks!"

Riff moaned, sat down on the bed, and muttered, "And that's why you're the scantily clad dancer, and not me."

-----------------------------

He found her in the tiny washroom, crouched on the cold stone floor, the sheen of saliva on her fingers clearly telling the tale of how she had made herself sick. She'd been crying, he noted, tears and bile gathering in equally corrosive puddles on the floor beneath her.

"That's why I never eat when I'm on the job--" he began, but her small fist in his groin stopped him, and he doubled over, joining her on the floor. Her scream was wordless, and yet spoke a thousand accusations.

She left him there, sprinting by in a flurry of flushed skin and striped flannel.

He'd not let her scream at him again.


	4. Moondrenched Shores

**Title:** Moondrenched Shores

**Fandom:** RHPS  
**  
Characters:** Riff, his mother, baby!Magenta

**Prompt:** 029. Birth

**Rating:** G

**Disclaimer: Ritz and Fox own all.**

He was the only one there with her when the baby finally came, ending countless months of sullen growth. The baby had taken root inside her, and it was a relief to both of them when she--somehow he knew it was a she--finally chose this rainy day to enter the world. He held her hand, the softly pale skin testimony to many days spent indoors, attending to the mainly social tasks of the upper class.

He remembered days like this one, when they had run through the rain, to come home soaking wet and laughing, and curl up with their respective books by the shimmering heat lamps.

Those had been good days, before she had taken up drinking as a way to pass the empty days, and He had come into their life. He was the advisor to the Prince, so she couldn't really refuse him, and soon found herself with child and no father who felt enough sympathy to take responsibility for it.

She cursed Him with every breath she had left in her straining body, every wave of pain that threatened to carry her off. Riff clung to her hand still tighter, his heart pounding in unison with hers, trying to soothe her, for somehow he knew that this wasn't right. Her hate was birthing this baby, when she really should be born into loving hands, not ones tainted with alcohol and contempt.

And so he bathed her all over with a soaking cloth, wiping the sweat and dirt and mistakes from her brow. She breathed easier after a while, and her eyes seemed to soften. He heard her fierce whisper, "This isn't his baby...It's mine." There were tears streaming down her pretty face now, "And nothing he can do will stop me from raising her and loving her as my baby."

It was those words that did it, seemingly, for suddenly there was a gushing of blood and slickness and that tiny, pale body was squalling on the sheets. Remarkably, Riff managed to unearth a paring knife from the clutter in the adjacent kitchen, and kept his hands from trembling long enough to separate mother and baby.

He figured she'd be cold, and so bundled the tiny bit of a life in one of his old shirts, singing lullabies to her until the sun finally went down and the moondrenched shores of Transsexual greeted her eyes for the first time.


	5. Dust

**Title:** Dust

**Fandom:** Rocky Horror Picture Show

**Characters:** Riff, Frank, OC Transylvanian

**Prompt:** 013. Yellow

**Rating:** PG

**Disclaimer: Ritz and Fox own all.**

"C'mon, that's enough for today." Drake spun him about as he raised what felt like the thousandth block of sandstone. "Besides," the other squinted at the sun, which perched tranquilly on horizons that conspired vainly to be hills, "It's getting late. You'll have a love to be getting home to, no doubt."

Riff wiped the sweat from his eyes, wrung it in tiny rivulets from his hair, and tried not to be too resentful of Drake's comment. He'd meant well, of course, and there was never any way to tell what wounds the most casual words could open in another person, especially one you'd only known for a week of working on the tomb of the next generation of Transsexual royal bastards.

Riff spat--even his saliva seemed yellowed with sandstone dust--and muttered something indifferent in Drake's direction. He needn't have bothered; the other was long gone. Tentatively, he tried standing upright again, and the pain made him gasp and swear and stagger most appealingly against the still-warm stone. He recalled with some satisfaction the way the young, swaggering Prince's lips had chapped after only a few hours out in the hot sun and wind, supervising the building of the tomb he wouldn't occupy for another lifetime.

The cool metal of the chisel was the only comfort to him in the heat of his anger, and he hefted it, palms breaking out anew in sweat. His vision was an icy sharpness of blues, the royal blue, and he saw only the tiny square of stone before him, and that instantly detestable face, run through with the metal. Blue, square, face, chisel...Crack. The jagged hole was easily visible, even as he backed away from the wall, which really hadn't been all that thick.

He didn't flinch at the footsteps behind him, didn't feel the sudden swoop of guilt as a shadow joined his own across the stony ground.

"Nice work." There was no mistaking that voice behind him, but, for once, it didn't sound insincere, even choked with yellow dust and a thousand other lies.


	6. Different Faces of Freedom

**Title:** Different Faces of Freedom

**Fandom:** Rocky Horror Picture Show

**Characters:** Riff/Frank, Magenta

**Prompt:** 053. Earth.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Disclaimer: Ritz and Fox own all.**

Frank's expression was remarkably passive as he turned from the window and threw the paper down on the table. "You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with this, would you?"

_OUT WITH THE OLD, IN WITH THE NEW…  
…CROWN OUR FRANKIE KING!_

_DOWN WITH THE OLD QUEEN!_

"Ah, not me personally, but…" Before he could finish his sentence, Frank was kissing him, stealing the breath from his smoke-ravaged lungs. They both broke apart after a few seconds, gasping, and Frank was laughing, the life back in his formerly cold eyes. Riff reached up to wipe the familiar dark lipstick from his mouth, fought in vain for control of his legs, and had to sink down into the nearest plush chair. "It's a bit overly dramatic for a getaway, I suppose, but we'll make do with what we've got. I'll give you an hour." He glanced at the clock, "The main hanger all right?" Riff nodded vaguely, and Frank was gone, but Riff could hear him whooping with delight as he rounded the corner and disappeared.

He smiled. If anything was overly dramatic, it was the man he was doing all this for, but Riff supposed he could forgive that, if kisses like the one he'd just received were any part of the bargain.

Magenta was leaning on the banister outside Frank's study, humming an old Transylvanian lullaby under her breath. Riff hurried to her side, and whispered, "An hour. Is that enough time?" Magenta swore and muttered something about what Riff would ask her to do in the name of his love, before replying, "Of course, brother." Kissing the top of her head and promising himself that he would make it all up to her once they were away from here, he hurried to the main hanger to check that their ship was still in the docks.

Once there, he was more than a little surprised to see that there was a group of fellow Transsexual citizens waiting for him, chanting slogans that could only be in favor of putting Frank on the throne. As soon as they saw Riff Raff, they burst into fresh cheers, and Riff felt himself flushing. Perhaps his persuasions that Frank should replace his mother had been a bit too effective. Really, all he had meant to do was stir up supporters of the Old Queen, so that Frank would have an excuse to leave the planet, but it seemed that Frank himself still had a few faithful followers.

Ah, well. It didn't really matter in the end, he reasoned silently as he attempted to pass them on his way to the ship. Sadly, a woman with black hair that seemed intent on sticking out in every direction stopped him, a white-gloved hand on his shoulder. "Where are you going?" she shouted, "Are you and the True King going somewhere?" Damn.

"Er, yes." He admitted; there was no point in lying, was there? The men and woman gasped as one, and the woman turned toward him with eyes flashing, "Then we're coming, too…If our King is fleeing this lovely planet, how can we stay?" Riff sighed; things were getting more complicated by the minute. How the hell had they even known?

He addressed the whole group, making an effort to raise his voice beyond its customary indifferent murmur. "We're going to need larger ships, then, if all of you insist on accompanying us. Any ideas would be most appreciated." The woman responded almost immediately, "Oh, don't you worry, sir." He winced at the formality, but she ignored him, "We've got it all figured out…Don't we?" The rest of the citizens made various noises of agreement before allowing her to continue, "Come with us, and we'll show you the perfect vessel for flying our brave King from cruel persecution by his fellow countrymen!"

Biting his tongue to keep from chuckling at how many things were wrong about that one sentence, he kept pace with the woman's eager stride straight out of the hanger and down a dingy back alley. Riff wondered idly why a ship would be stored in such unsavory conditions, but he didn't have to do so long, for they soon arrived at their destination.

He looked around, and after a moment was forced to ask, "And where is the spaceship, then?" The woman burst out laughing and in a not altogether unkind manner replied, "The house is the spaceship…Or I suppose you would call it more of a transport device. And I, regrettably, haven't the faintest idea how it works, so it would be up to you to run it. Won't you come inside?"

Despite his wariness, she bowed him inside, and led him to a room full of devices that looked as though they could perhaps be coaxed into allowing the house to break free of the gravitational pull on Transsexual and drift off into space.

"It is a bit overly dramatic..." He began, grinning as Frank's words came to him again, "But we'll make do with what we've got."

Magenta and Frank both followed him willingly enough, each lugging various items that they couldn't bear to leave behind on their home planet. As soon as they were all beyond the threshold and standing on the threadbare carpet of the foyer, the door swung shut behind them on screeching hinges and Riff hurried back toward the first room.

The controls weren't terribly difficult to work, once you got right down to it, and Riff was able to ease the house off the ground without trouble. He supposed that the house's destination had already been determined, and so all he could do was wait and see where they would end up.

It took him a relatively short time to find Frank, his lithe form draped casually across what could only be his throne. Except that it wasn't his. Carved in the chair's scalloped back, Riff knew he would find the insignia of the Great Furter, the Old Queen.

"You've got no right—" The words out of his mouth before he thought, and Frank raised a dark brow, as if daring him to continue. He swallowed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" Words fled from him as Frank came down the steps toward him, arms crossed across his chest, and his voice was as dark and emotionless as the void of space that spun by outside the window, "I've got every right, understand? My mother isn't here, and that gives me, and only me, the right to plant my own arse in her chair. Understand?" Riff nodded, instinctively shrinking away from Frank's disconcertingly serious glare. He took the first opportunity he got to back out of the room, clenching his teeth against the rebellious words that threatened to spill from his lips.

Perhaps fleeing Transsexual hadn't been the answer, he thought grimly as he stared out the window at the blue speck that the house was plummeting towards. But then again, how did one solution solve this many problems?


	7. Round Like a Record

**Title:** Round Like a Record

**Fandom:** Rocky Horror Picture Show

**Characters:** Riff, Columbia, Magenta 

**Prompt:** 072. Fixed.

**Rating:** G

**Disclaimer: Ritz and Fox own all.**

"Magenta…" Riff called down the hall of the castle as he made his way toward the kitchen, "Would you mind telling Columbia that I've managed to fix her record player?" He didn't add that the task had been tediously difficult, knowing that Magenta had something of a soft spot for the shrill girl.

He immediately regretted speaking, for suddenly there was a floury hand on his shoulder, and his sister stood facing him, one hand on her hip. "Yes, Riff, I would mind." she snapped, "She's just down the hall…Honestly, I don't understand what you have against speaking to her."

Riff shifted impatiently from foot to foot; his sister's tirades were growing less and less bearable as his own moods rose and fell along with the Master's. "She could be with that boy, for all I know, and I don't want to walk in on them…" he trailed off, and Magenta sighed gustily, snatched the turntable from his arms, and stormed down the hall toward Columbia's bedroom.

He followed her dutifully, sorry now that he had brought her into this. Now that he thought about it, he had been using his sister as a bridge to Columbia for as long as the girl had been at the castle, and she hadn't really objected until now.

Magenta's soft, throaty voice drifted through the doorway, and he heard his name. He scowled. If she was going to talk about him, she should really do it when he wasn't standing within a hundred feet. He strode over brusquely and proceeded through the doorway, pretty sure he knew what she had been saying and wanting to stop it while he still could. The last thing he needed was the two of them allied against him.

"So," he began, casually coming into the room, "Does your record player work again?" For some reason, Columbia was giggling, and he whirled on her. Quite suddenly, it dawned on him that there was another sound in the room. A droning litany of the same words chanted over and over, coming from the turntable, "Paul is dead…Paul is dead…Paul is dead…"

"You fixed it, all right," Columbia began, her eyes laughing, "Backwards."


	8. Too Much Red

Sorry it's been so long, whoever has been waiting for me to write. But this is for all you canon shippers out there, though it does have a certain strange twist to it.

**Title:** Too Much Red

**Fandom:** RHPS

**Characters:** Riff/Magenta

**Prompt:** 011. Red.

**Rating:** PG-13

**Disclaimer: Richard O'Brien is god. Not me. And I suppose 20th Century Fox will get on me if I don't mention them, too. **

The night he found her with Columbia, everything changed between them. The moon was his only companion, staring in smug voyeurism through the window and illuminating their pearly skin.

---------------------------------------

He stood alone in her room, the silk curtains fluttering like fragile wings in the tentative breeze, the lights covered in flowing scarves that tinted the light a bloody red. The scent in the air was some strange combination of exotic and musty, and it made his head spin and his blood sing in all the wrong ways. He turned toward her dresser, the only thing their mother had really valued, and began reaching for bottles.

The hair was easy, at some level—anything that was even remotely red went on, though there was nothing to be done about the stubborn greasiness of his own locks. His skin was pale enough, certainly, and he painted his thin lips with what was left of the deep red color that she favored.

Puckering his lips mockingly at his own reflection, he reached for her apron and dress, laid across the back of a chair. He didn't have the perfect curves of her body, of course, but with a bit of yanking and wrestling with the dirty cotton he managed to make it do.

He was just peering back into the mirror again, realizing how very little they looked alike, despite being brother and sister, when the door creaked open. He didn't need to look up to see that it was her.

He turned, and her warm hands were on his face, her breath following close behind, an anxious whisper, "Oh, Riff…What are you afraid of?" The words threw him—this wasn't how it was supposed to be, not at all…

"I love you." The words that shouldn't need to be said. "And if you don't want to love me, can you love you?" He spread his arms imploringly, feeling the dress slip lower on his chest.

She dropped onto the bed, fingers dragging distractedly through her hair. "Riff…It's not that I don't love you—" His heart skipped a beat, the hope fluttering back to life before he could stop it. "I just can't love you..." Her beautiful lips quivered, but she pulled herself together with some effort.

"You can…" he whispered, raising her chin in his hands, "And now I know you do." The hope was singing through him now, and he had to kiss her. They fell backward onto the bed, hands making short work of clothing—it didn't matter whose.

She sat up suddenly, throwing him off balance and almost sending him to the floor. "You've done this before, haven't you? With a woman?"

He couldn't look at her, feeling the flush start in his cheeks and spread across his whole face. "No. Frank. But what does any of that matter now?"

It would matter, in the end, but neither of them really considered that as they kissed again, the reality of the situation lost in a haze of red.


	9. Dance Away

Title: Dance Away  
Fandom: RHPS  
Characters/Pairing: Riff/Magenta, mentioning others  
Prompt: 096. Writer's choice - Dance  
Word Count: 729

**Disclaimer: Richard O'Brien is god. Not me. **

"I want a toy." Those were his exact words, complete with a pout that would have made his mother immensely proud.

Riff Raff didn't dare protest, and ended up spending the next few nights browsing (inconspicuously, he hoped) the nightclubs of nearby towns. It was tiring work, to say the least, and by the fifth night he had more or less despaired at finding anyone suitable. People were also starting to wonder about him, and he knew he wouldn't be able to continue his search indefinitely, but he didn't dare go back empty-handed.

He hadn't stood out overmuch among the daylight crowd, or so he had thought, but this group that frequented the sleazier nightclubs (and they did get progressively worse as the nights wore on) was by no means your standard bunch of Earthlings.

The air in the bar was thick with smoke and the oppressive heat of too many people crammed into one small space. He sipped cautiously at the sickeningly sweet drink in front of him, undid the first few buttons on his shirt, and struggled in vain against the pull of sleep that was gradually dragging his head toward the cool metal tabletop. Another long night.

The strobe lights flickered a bit overenthusiastically in anticipation of the next bit of scantily-clad 'entertainment', and Riff Raff closed his eyes, but there was nothing he could do about the insistant shrillness of this girl's voice, and the clatter of her dancing feet.

He remembered the first time he had seen his sister dance, all those years ago.

They had both been serving in the Palace, firmly beneath the Queen's (she hadn't been old then) greasy thumb. There had been a feast of some sort, and Riff Raff had been serving the guests, assuming that his sister was otherwise occupied, when suddenly she had appeared before him, face tight with irritation and something that was almost fear.

"What's wrong?" he asked, a little too sharply. If the nobles had been hassling her again...

She dipped her head and whispered, "The Queen wishes us to entertain her...now. Both of us." Later he would learn the reason for this odd request, but at the moment he had no choice but to obey. They made their way up toward where the Queen was reclined on a silken couch the same red as her rouged and powdered face, and bowed almost automatically.

"You asked for us, your highness?"

There was no audible reply, just a nod and a vague gesture toward the low platform off to the left of the Queen's throne. They crossed to it, and a motley group of court musicians began to laborously pluck out a waltz of sorts. Magenta threw her head back in a cascade of pride and red curls, and began to sway. Riff realized a second or so later that he would be expected to dance with her, for no one else had stepped forward, and the waltz specifically called for two dancers. He felt himself blush--she was, after all, his sister.

But, as he continued to watch her, a blur of black silk and creamy skin, he decided that it wouldn't be so terrible after all. And reaching for her, with the music beginning to speed up behind them, and her so light and beautiful in his arms, he came to the definite conclusion that his sister was...

But no, he couldn't think that. She was just that, his sister. Nothing more.

The music and tapping in the club had died down, and Riff came to with a start; he had more than likely been gazing vacantly off into space for most of the girl's act. Not that many of club's occupants would notice, mind you; they were all too busy waiting to see if the girl would reveal her talent in areas other than singing.

He watched her, as the music wound down, finishing her dance, and he made his decision. Taking another swig of the drink to fortify himself, he made his way back to the castle.

He made his report to Frank, who seemed pleased enough, and set off a short while later with something vaguely resembling a predatory look in his eyes.

Riff ignored him, and instead climbed the stairs toward his sister's room. Leaning in the doorway, he murmured to her sleeping form, "Do you remember our dance?"

-fin-


End file.
